Means to an End
by Narcissology
Summary: After the fall of Voldemort, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy both return to Hogwarts for a proper Year 7. When a bit of reckless behavior begins a series of events both completely unforeseen and completely out of their control, they find themselves getting a new type of education. (Considered AU as I've taken some liberties with book 7.)
1. Chapter 1: Hermione

Hermione raised a loosely closed fist, preparing to knock on the heavy mahogany door before her, and then lowered it again. She leaned her forehead against the cool wood instead and sighed. He was inside, waiting for her. She thought about him, trying to push the contempt from her mind, but her thoughts invariably returned to the curl of his lip. She knew what he wanted with her tonight. Her stomach lurched painfully. She had gotten herself into this mess – had been, in fact, a reluctant but willing participant.

_I had no idea that it would come to this_, her sensibilities screamed in bitter protest, half-heartedly defending her against her own memories. But she did remember. It had started with a sneer exceptionally like the one that she had once loathed from the man on the other side of the door.

* * *

"What makes you the bloody expert, Granger?" he asked her, his lip curled.

"Malfoy," she said acidly, "why is it so difficult for you to admit that you might be wrong?" Without looking up from the parchment on which she was writing, she shoved an open book across the table in his direction. "Look it up for yourself, then."

He snatched the book and rose from his chair, turning his back to her before leafing through it. "It's not here," he announced after a brief survey. "I told you it wasn't. You imagined it."

"Malfoy!" she shrieked, finally pulling her eyes away from her work. "I cannot work with you! This is completely ridiculous!"

"You don't have much of a choice," he answered her, smirking. "If you think I haven't tried to change McGonagall's mind regarding our partners for this project, you're thicker than you look. I couldn't care less about a bloody Transfiguration N.E.W.T.."

"We've spent six hours a day the past two weeks at this," Hermione snapped, "and you haven't done a thing except get in the way. Go back to the dungeon and play junior Death Eater with your little friends. I'll finish by myself and you'll get full credit."

He threw the book to the floor and leaned across the table, his hands on either side of her parchment, his gray eyes narrowed in fury, nose inches from hers. "You shut it about my father!" he warned her.

"I have no interest in insulting your family, Malfoy," she testily assured him, fighting her urge to shrink away from his angry face. "I was insulting _you_. Now are you going to help me or aren't you?"

He whirled away from her and crossed his arms. "Say it," he spat, his back to her. "You've been dying to say it since start of term."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it just as quickly as he turned to face her. His eyes were shining a bit too brightly.

"SAY IT!" he shouted at her. "Say my father bought his way out of Azkaban after the fall of Voldemort! Say you wonder how much like him I really am! You think I haven't heard what everyone else is saying about me? Well, I won't have a filthy Mudblood talking about my family behind my back, so say it to my face, Granger!" His mouth twisted with rage and his eyes glittered with tears.

"Oh, Malfoy," she murmured sadly. As much as she disliked him, as much he'd tormented her, she didn't like to see anyone in that much pain. She pushed her chair back from the table and before she fully realized what she was doing she was standing in front of him. Cautiously she reached out and touched the sleeve of his sweater.

He batted her hand away and glared the floor. "Don't touch me," he muttered. "I don't need your sympathy."

"You need someone's sympathy, Malfoy," she argued gently. "I don't envy your position."

He continued to avoid her eyes, studying his shoes instead. "You don't know anything of my position," he barked thickly, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He mopped at it with his sleeve, clearly embarrassed.

Tears stung Hermione's eyes as well, watching Draco's shame and humiliation. His existence had indeed been difficult this year. Lucius's incarceration and subsequent release had made the entire Malfoy family the subject of cruel gossip and wild speculation, which obviously had not escaped Draco's notice. He'd surely seen the stares, sometimes curious, sometimes accusatory, heard the whispered denunciations – but his impudent demeanor hid any anguish that the conjecture might have brought him. Now, Hermione could clearly see that his façade was hardly impenetrable. The mighty Draco Malfoy sniffled and studied his feet before her. He looked exhausted, pale, hardly an imposing foe. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she had thrown her arms around his neck, pulling him into a rough hug.

Draco drew a sharp breath and stiffened as she touched him, and she was immediately, painfully aware of her error. She dropped her arms as he pushed her away, more roughly than he had probably intended, both hands making contact with her chest and forcing her backward. Hermione's ankle caught in the leg of her chair and she toppled to the floor with a cry of surprise. He was over her almost immediately, cursing and dragging her by an arm to her feet as if he was angry that she'd had the audacity to fall. Hermione felt a bit like a rag doll, flailing to regain her disrupted center of balance and over-correcting, this time falling face first into Malfoy's chest, her nose rubbing roughly against his jumper. He grasped both of her arms firmly at the shoulders and stood her at arm's length as he spat out a mouthful of her hair. Her face flamed and her eyes welled again. This had gone all wrong. She only meant to offer him a little comfort and now she was bruised and embarrassed and being held up by her arms with Malfoy looking at her as though she might sprout horns at any moment. When he leaned forward and kissed her, she had no time to react.

It wasn't a rough kiss, angry or brash like she would have expected if she could have ever expected such a thing; it was tentative, testing the waters as though she might hit him had he not still had her arms pinned firmly to her sides to keep her on her feet. She did not hit him. Instead she did nothing, waiting until he pulled away from her to first take a breath and then take a step backward, shaking free of the hands still grasping her arms. Malfoy's cheeks flushed pink and he began to stammer an apology, a scowl twisting his face back to something Hermione recognized. She held up a hand to stop him.

"It must be awful, living under the burden of expectations that you can never hope to meet," Hermione murmured softly.

Draco's hands hung limply at his sides, and he would not meet her eyes. "You don't know anything about expectations," he insisted again, but the venom was gone from his voice. In his face, Hermione could see the shadow of the boy that she'd met six years prior, the sworn enemy of her best friend, the malicious git that had never shown her an ounce of kindness, and her stomach twisted with the realization that the tables had been fully turned for him. She wondered if her first instinct had been the correct one, and reached out again to touch his sleeve. This time he did not shy away from her touch, and so she moved a step closer, closing the gap between them. When she put her arms around his neck to hug him, he sagged against her, his face buried in her hair. She could feel his breath, hot and ragged, on her neck, and when he clumsily brushed her hair away to kiss her again, this time she let him.

From that point things had gotten, in Hermione's estimation, completely out of control. That the two had finished the project on schedule was a small wonder given the amount of time that they spent on other endeavors, progressing from snogging to undressing one another relatively quickly given their shared history. The animosity between them wasn't entirely wiped out, but they found that they were both more satisfied fucking than fighting - Hermione's appetites were voracious and had never been satisfied so unabashedly in her rather short scope of experience. Draco's tendencies ran toward the reckless, and this kept her breathless and excited, never knowing when next he'd slip a note into her Advanced Potions book requesting the she meet him under the Quidditch stands or at the top of the Astronomy tower, where they would quickly, quietly devour one another. There was certainly no love in the pairing, and not much respect, either, upon reflection. And Hermione was certain that if either had an inkling of what sort of trouble they could get themselves into, they would have never been as careless as they were.

But as things stood, they had no idea, and so it was that Draco's unfortunate taste for danger, as well as Hermione, that ultimately changed the course of her future. As often as she'd tried to forget, that night jumped easily to the front of her mind - she recalled that it began as it usually did, Draco teasing her about her cowardice, his Malfoy sneer making her despise him and sending a now-familiar thrill down her spine all at once as he covertly slipped a hand under her skirt to playfully pinch her arse. He reminded her that it was two o'clock in the morning. He asked who she possibly thought would catch them at this hour. She had nervously resisted him at first, as she always did, but gave in when his mouth found the spot between her neck and her shoulder that made her shiver and clutch at him, allowing him to undress her completely and pose her invitingly across the table that she still shared with Harry and Ron in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classroom. Perhaps it was the ever-lengthening platinum hair falling about his face, or the fact that Hermione was moaning "Malfoy!" repeatedly and quite clearly, but when Professor McGonagall opened the door of her classroom, there was no doubt that she had identified one of the young culprits on sight.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she shrieked. "Stop that this instant! You have gone too far this..." She fell silent mid-sentence, her mouth still moving but no sound coming out, for as Draco pulled his lips away from the neck of the girl pinned beneath him, Professor McGonagall got her first view of Hermione Granger and was rendered momentarily speechless. After taking a deep breath, she regained her voice and murmured, "Get dressed, both of you."

As they pulled their clothing back into place with shaking hands, she sent a house-elf to fetch Professor Snape, and they waited in silence, forming a quiet triangle - Draco and Hermione each retreating to the safety of their assigned seats and Professor McGonagall behind her desk, refusing to look at either of them. Hermione's thoughts were racing. The two of them would undoubtedly be expelled. She glanced at Malfoy with sidelong animosity for talking her into such reckless behavior and was struck with a twinge of sympathy for her often-enemy and partner in crime. His normally pale face had taken on a new level of pallor, and he slumped miserably in his chair, no longer the instigator of only an hour ago. Instead, Draco looked painfully aware of their situation, and Hermione understood that his expulsion from Hogwarts would be the nail in his family's social coffin, especially when his father's associates caught wind of his co-conspirator's Muggle parentage.

When Professor Snape, dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe, threw open the door with a crash that echoed through the large room, Draco turned slightly green. Professor McGonagall rose to meet him near the door and apprise him of the situation at hand. They spoke in hushed tones, heads pressed together in unusual conspiracy. Hermione heard Snape mutter, "Minerva, the boy's been through enough," and she glanced over at Draco, who met her eyes with sick desperation. A few moments later, she watched Professor McGonagall hurry through the classroom door and into the hall, and Professor Snape walked to where they sat and stood between the tables, glowering.

"Mr. Malfoy, Professor McGonagall is summoning your father at my behest," Snape informed him, leveling a dark glare at the Draco's wilting form.

He did not look up, but murmured, "Thank you, sir."

Hermione could see that Draco understood this as the largest of favors - while his father's anger was unavoidable, he would certainly rather learn of his son's expulsion before it became fodder for the society columns, which had been less than forgiving to the Malfoys of late, than after it was too late. Snape shifted his gaze from one guilty face to the other, shame-induced blooms of color rising in Hermione's cheeks as he appraised her. She was momentarily relieved when he turned his attention back to Draco, but again surprised by a sharp pang of guilt for her part in the situation as the professor's words bit into Draco exactly where he was most vulnerable.

"Your family hardly needs another stain on its reputation, Mr. Malfoy," he muttered in an undertone. "Your father will be hard-pressed to buy a way out of this particular dilemma for you." Draco winced at the words.

Professor McGonagall returned to the room with an entrance more understated than Snape's and the four of them sat in a heavy silence for what seemed like an eternity. After some time, the stillness was punctuated by sharp, determined footfalls echoing against the stone floor of the corridor, which made Hermione's gut clench painfully and drew a fresh, ragged sigh from Draco. Professor Snape jumped to his feet and met Lucius Malfoy at the door, pulling it shut before the rest of them could catch a glimpse of the elder Malfoy. In the stillness, they could hear the echo of Professor Snape's deep voice resonating in the hallway. Although they could not make out the words, the information being conveyed was evident. There was a pause, silence, and then Lucius Malfoy roared, his rage apparent. She heard Draco moan softly, "Oh, Merlin," and watched him try, unsuccessfully, to sink into his chair. Again, the rumble of Snape's voice reached them, his words coming fast and smooth and there was momentary silence before the door opened with a creak. Lucius Malfoy strode to the front of the room, Professor Snape at his heels. In contrast to the rest of them, he looked impeccable - well-tailored robes of black, his traveling cloak lined in burgundy silk, boots impossibly shined, hair queued back neatly. Hermione idly wondered if he ever slept or if he simply always went about that well heeled. As he brushed past her, she caught his scent - the dry, slightly heady aroma she'd associated with fear and loathing for as long as she could remember, and it freshened her awareness of the gravity of the situation. He turned to face them, his heels snapping sharply together, his lip drawn up in a snarl, and his eyes fell upon her. As he slowly looked Hermione up and down, she felt her cheeks reddening again, although she tried to meet his gaze defiantly. Then his appraisal fell to his son, who had managed to square his shoulders in as dignified a manner as possible given his obvious dread.

"Really, Draco," he spat through clenched teeth. "What exactly were you thinking?" But when he turned to address the two professors, his tone was surprisingly relaxed. "Given the unfortunate events of the previous year," he began, " I thought it best to wait until the end of the term to make a formal announcement. The children, however, seem to have forced my hand a bit." Lucius shot an acerbic glare over his shoulder at Draco, who winced again, the dread on his face apparent. "Severus, Minerva, you shall be the first to know." He paused as he turned his back to them and faced Draco and Hermione again, a contemptuous smile turning the corners of his mouth, his eyes flitting from one to the other. "Narcissa and I are pleased to announce that Draco and Miss Granger are engaged to be married."

Draco turned a shocking new hue of pale, and closed his eyes unsteadily, but Hermione scarcely noticed. She felt as though she'd been hit in the stomach. She opened her mouth to protest, but Lucius's narrowed eyes fell upon her, daring her to speak, and she closed it again.

Satisfied with their reactions, he returned his attention to the professors, both of whom were visibly stunned by his words. He continued. "The wedding is being planned to coincide with the conclusion of the spring term. Rest assured, professors, that my son and his fiancée will keep their activities a bit more… shall we say… discreet? You won't be troubled with this matter again. Now," he briskly rapped the end of his cane against the stone floor, "when the two of you have imposed much-deserved sanctions, I'd like a moment alone with the children. I'd very much like to impose a sanction or two of my own."

Professor McGonagall, wearing an expression that fell somewhere between horror and dismay, seemed relieved to be able to wash her hands of the whole situation. Fixing her eyes on Professor Snape, she sighed, "We can hardly assign detention without raising suspicion, Severus. Fifty points from Gryffindor, and fifty from Slytherin, if you agree, and I shall leave the situation in Mr. Malfoy's hands. His sanctions are clearly more creative than I could hope to accomplish." She rose, and as she passed between Hermione and Draco, muttered, "Congratulations to the both of you," nearly inaudibly.

Professor Snape nodded curtly and rose to leave as well, his eyes sweeping from Hermione to Draco and back again. "I should hope," he advised them, scowling, "that the next time that a house prefect and head girl decide to engage in such explicit activity, that they choose to do so in a manner that does not involve dragging the sleeping from their beds at unspeakable hours." As he passed close to Lucius, he murmured under his breath, "Well played, my friend," and then he was gone, closing the classroom door behind him.

Draco had hardly heard the click of the latch before he cried, "Father, what are you playing at?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow. His mouth curled up in the corners smugly, and he looked quite satisfied with himself. "My dear boy," he drawled, "I have just saved your skin and that of your family. A simple word of thanks will suffice."

"You can't expect me to _marry_ her! A Mudblood!" Draco fumed defiantly and Lucius's eyes flashed cold, gray steel, any hint of a smile gone.

"You, Draco," he spat, his tone punctuated and biting, "forget yourself. You are my son, and you will do what I say. Miss Granger seemed sufficient to you for trysting, and she is certainly a worthy match for you, save her unfortunate lineage. Your use of such language to describe your betrothed will not be tolerated." Lucius paused, taking notice that Hermione's hands had curled into tight fists on her desk. A smile crept back over his face, one that might have been amused but looked slightly predatory. "Besides," he murmured to Draco but kept his eyes on Hermione, "there is nothing that will return us to good graces with the Ministry as quickly as welcoming a Muggle-born to our family with open arms." He turned his full attention to Hermione.

No one had addressed her directly yet, and for that she was grateful, but Lucius was not about to let her slip through the cracks.

"So, Miss Granger," he drawled deceptively softly, "this is indeed a fortuitous turn of events for you, is it not?" Hermione detected a trace of amusement in his voice. His eyes crawled over her slowly, studying, watching for any hint of reaction.

She was careful not to allow her fingers to curl into fists again, and she took a great, gulping breath, considering her answer carefully. Draco Malfoy had always been a malicious git, but his father was downright dangerous. Lucius took a step toward her, and her breath caught in her throat, cutting off the response she had been calculating. Her eyes were locked on his, and her heart pounded wildly. They were so much like Draco's eyes that she had a brief moment of vertigo as he studied her intently. Despite her determination, she squeezed her eyes shut, absently rubbing at her temple with her fingertips, and when she opened them again, she could not meet his gaze.

At that moment, however, Draco chose to resort to a posture she hadn't seen him adopt since their second year at Hogwarts. He crossed his arms, slouched in his chair, and muttered, "Filthy little Mudblood."

Lucius rounded on his son so quickly Hermione almost didn't see him move. In a blur of black robes, he was standing over Draco, who shrank away from him in terror. "My patience with you, Draco," Lucius hissed, "wears thin. Because you lacked either the restraint or the judgment to simply go back to your dormitory and toss off before bedtime like the rest of your peers, you have landed all of us in our present predicament."

"Father," Draco nearly whined, "you've told me a hundred times that I am a Malfoy, and as a Malfoy..."

"You are entitled to take what you desire," Lucius cut him off. "But what you have clearly failed to glean from my lectures is that there is a price to be paid for everything. Your complacency made you stupid, and your stupidity led to your discovery. Had you been anyone else, both you and Miss Granger would have been on the first train home, with your reputations and your futures jeopardized by your expulsion. Your name still grants you certain considerations, but you must pay that price, now more than ever. You will respect Miss Granger and her new position in our family, you will do as I say, and you will thank me for interrupting my rest to come here and clean up your mess."

Draco was silent for a moment, and then mumbled resignedly, "Thank you, Father." He was still scowling, but the combativeness had gone from his posture.

That matter settled to his satisfaction, Lucius again gave his attention to Hermione. "Now, Miss Granger," he continued, "I will take the liberty of informing your parents of the happy news."

* * *

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut tightly, the wood beneath her forehead now warm from her contact. He had summoned her, she remembered. She should not keep him waiting. She could almost feel his presence behind the door. Once again raising her hand again, she rapped softly, turned the knob, and pushed the heavy door open without waiting for a response.


	2. Chapter 2: Lucius

Lucius Malfoy's quill flew furiously across the parchment in front of him, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stopped writing and threw his quill to the desk in disgust, a blot of ink marring the parchment where it landed. What was she doing? He knew she was just outside the study door - the heavy wood was too thick for him to hear her, but he could sense her. Her presence, and his awareness of it, was a constant source of irritation for him of late. Sometimes even in the dark of his vast bedchamber, knowing that she was lying just down the hall, he could not get comfortable. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, exasperated beyond what he would have thought possible a year ago. She was his son's Mudblood wife, and now necessity dictated that he have her. And he did not deny that he wanted her - he hated the way that she managed to make him, once the powerful right hand of the Dark Lord, feel ridiculous in his own skin, and he wanted to possess her, to demonstrate his ability to overwhelm her, to show her that his power, while dormant, was as strong as ever. And he wanted to please her. He wanted to impress her. They matched wits as often as Lucius could arrange without arousing suspicion, but the results were always the same – Hermione dismissed him as ignorant, arrogant or simply impossible with a roll of her eyes and a toss of her hair. He was loath to admit his desires, even to himself, but they gnawed at his mind.

Now, there was no choice, he reminded himself. Draco must have an heir. Lucius growled under his breath. In the post-war world, so many tried to dismiss the notion of loyalty to blood as a forgotten relic of a bygone era, but those who mattered – remembered. To this point, he had been able to brush the unspoken accusations aside with a flick of his well-manicured hand – after all, it was Draco who had wed the Muggle-born, and Draco was of a different generation; one which had been taught that purity of blood was less important than love and attraction. Draco was dismissed as eccentric. Lucius, on the other hand, knew the importance of blood and crest well. He slammed his palm against the top of his desk in frustration, hating her for daring to be born to Muggles, daring to have those deep, richly colored eyes that flashed and challenged him, daring to wear that perfume that made him light-headed. Lately, his mind replayed the moments of their acquaintance like a pensieve, and there was little Lucius could do besides sit back and enjoy the show.

* * *

Upon the formal announcement of their engagement, Narcissa had insisted on a party to celebrate the union, and while Draco implored her to hold separate parties for he and Hermione, Narcissa stood adamantly firm in her resolve to make them appear not only as a couple, but a couple in love. Despite his appeals to his mother's social sensibilities, and then failing that, his out-and-out pouting, Narcissa asked Hermione to tea the very next week to discuss arrangements. As the four of them sat, Draco and Lucius rather uncomfortably, in the drawing room while Narcissa prattled on about evergreen arrangements and the menu, Hermione had remained pale and quiet, not disagreeable, but only as polite as was necessary. Lucius was a bit chagrined - the firey girl that Draco had described to him after much heated questioning about the pairing had been opinionated and outspoken, even if her passions did lie in frivolous topics like house-elf welfare and the benefits of Muggle medicine. After returning from Azkaban, Lucius had been required to be on his best behavior to avoid suspicion, and he had secretly been thrilled that Draco's indiscretion had given him cause to scheme again, even if it was something as nondescript as an arranged marriage. Draco had confided that Hermione had recently been quite vehement in her protests to him regarding their upcoming union, and when they'd arrived early that afternoon, Lucius's sensibilities had been primed for argument. The young woman seated in front of him, however, seemed too polite for protestation, and Lucius had been lulled into quiet disappointment instead. In fact, Hermione's only contribution to the planning was a blushing insistence that she be allowed to add several names that had been conspicuously omitted from the guest list – a small concession to which Lucius didn't bother to protest, and even raised a long finger to quell Draco's irritation.

"Not that I really think the Weasleys would come," she had added quickly, "but the family is quite dear to me. And Harry is, as well."

Draco heeded his father's silent warning, but glowered at her nonetheless as Narcissa obliviously added the names to the list. Draco had recently informed his father that Hermione had been romantically linked to the youngest Weasley boy before the announcement of the engagement, and Lucius idly wondered if it was jealousy or simple animosity fueling his son's annoyance. But Hermione continued to wring her hands in her lap, met no one's eyes, and if she noticed the show of emotion, she ignored it well. With the arrangements settled to his wife's satisfaction, Lucius had bid farewell to the two of them, and he sent them back to Hogwarts for the last week of classes before the holidays. Before they left, they received pointed instructions to at least try to appear more pleasant when they returned to the manor on the following Saturday for their celebration.

When the day arrived, they both seemed to have begrudgingly complied with his request, although their enthusiasm was still quite below the excited buzz that filled the halls of Malfoy Manor. Since his incarceration, the home that had once hosted the most lavish of gatherings the wizarding world had ever known had been lonely and empty except for the master of the house and his wife. The house-elves and the staff were delighted to be entertaining on such a grand scale again. As evening set upon the house, the activity became nearly frenetic, and Lucius escaped to his chambers to dress for the festivities. As he entered the room, Draco was lounging against the heavy satin pillows at the head of the bed, the curtains surrounding the canopy pulled back, so he could watch Narcissa as she laced Hermione's corset tightly. Normally, he would have been irritated by the invasion of his personal space by his entire family, but the scene amused him too much to give it much thought. A door connected Lucius's bedchamber to Narcissa's, and as Draco was rarely allowed into Narcissa's chamber, Lucius's room had been the scene of the most private moments between father and son – a refuge from thunderstorms and nightmares, and as he'd grown, quiet arguments that he begged to be kept from his mother, and short, intimate conversations during school holidays when they could have tea together before joining Narcissa for breakfast - a fact which all present but Hermione knew.

"Draco," his father admonished good-naturedly, "it's hardly proper for a gentleman to see his betrothed in such a state of undress, especially in mixed company." Lucius didn't try to suppress the smile that rose to his lips as he noted his son's grudging admiration while watching Hermione struggle to breathe under his wife's practiced hands, or the color the the admonition brought to his face.

"Please, Father," Draco dismissed him, never taking his eyes off of Hermione despite his obvious embarrassment over being caught admiring her. "My betrothed doesn't have the sense to be modest, and her lack of innocence is no secret to anyone."

Narcissa guided the bodice of Hermione's velvet gown over her shoulders and then expertly began to push tiny velvet buttons through the eyelets at the back. Hermione threw a pained glance over her shoulder at Draco. "I swear, Draco, if you are planning to be this unpleasant all evening, I..." She trailed off, appearing to realize that there was nothing with which she could threaten him. Her wild hair had been tamed into sleek ringlets that she reached back and gathered in her hands as Narcissa reached the top of her bodice. Narcissa pushed the last button into submission, and Hermione released her hair, letting it fall about her back and shoulders. She turned to Narcissa and kissed her lightly on the cheek before facing Draco and his father. The satin of her black skirts made a pleasant swishing noise as she turned. "So what do you think?" she asked them warily, and Lucius could see that her melancholy demeanor had been lifted, at least temporarily, by her transformation from schoolgirl to young lady. The necklace, a Malfoy family heirloom which Narcissa had insisted Draco give Hermione for Christmas, sat against her pale skin above the black velvet of her bodice. Lucius's eyes sparkled. and although his face remained stoic, he gave her a satisfied nod. Draco muttered gruffly, "You'll do, Granger," but he smiled in spite of himself.

"Now," Narcissa interrupted the moment, clapping her hands briskly, "I need my Malfoy gentlemen to get themselves dressed. "

Draco and Hermione excused themselves, each retreating in the direction of their bedrooms, and Lucius scanned the dress robes that the house-elves had laid out for him meticulously.

"Such a sweet girl," Narcissa murmured as he began to dress. "I believe we'll make a lady of polite society out of her yet," she added with an air of apprehension.

"Yes, Cissy," he replied, "despite her parentage."

"Without a doubt," Narcissa agreed, shedding her daytime robes. "Worth, however, the Malfoys becoming blood traitors?" she asked over her shoulder, disappearing into her chambers.

"I am not a blood traitor, Cissy," Lucius growled, loudly enough that she could hear him between rooms.

"No," Narcissa sniffed, returning with her gown in her hands. "Our son is. And that is your doing."

Irritated with her implication, Lucius laced his boots in silence while Narcissa fussed before the mirror. He helped her to dress and dismissively bestowed upon her the expected admirations before they made their entrance downstairs to greet their arriving guests.

At precisely seven o'clock, a trumpet fanfare sounded regally, and all eyes turned to the top of the marble staircase, where his handsome son appeared with his equally handsome bride-to-be. An appreciative murmur raced through the crowded room. Lucius saw Hermione's smile flicker momentarily as her eyes played across the faces of the guests. Arthur and Molly Weasley were indeed in attendance, and also the youngest Weasley daughter on the arm of Saint Potter himself, but she managed to smile serenely as she descended the staircase on Draco's arm.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs where their parents waited, Lucius raised his glass. "Viva l'amour," he offered by way of a toast to the couple. All around the ballroom, guests followed suit, and his words were echoed in a jumbled murmur.

"Viva la bonne société," he heard Hermione mutter under her breath.

Lucius chuckled mirthlessly. "Indeed," he answered, softly but sharply, from the corner of his mouth, and Hermione blushed deeply, obviously embarrassed that her sarcasm had been overheard.

Lucius watched the evening unfold with satisfaction. The food was without rival, Draco insulted only a few members of the wizarding elite, and excellent wine flowed freely. As the area of the Malfoy Manor ballroom which had been set aside for dancing crowded again and again, Hermione never seemed to be without partner, which elicited a jealousy in Draco that amused Lucius. Had Lucius not known Draco's true manner as a spoiled and possessive man-child, he would have sworn under oath that it appeared Draco cared for the girl, which suited the situation well. It was late in the evening when he tapped his only son on the shoulder in the midst of the whirling guests.

"May I, Draco?" he drawled softly. He didn't miss Hermione's sharp intake of breath, but Draco shrugged obliviously and moved aside, handing his lovely fiancée to his father and making his way to the nearest house-elf serving champagne. Taking Hermione in his arms, Lucius was astounded by how lightly she moved on her feet. They waltzed in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"Miss Granger, you are indeed a lovely sight this evening," he murmured, and she raised her eyes to him. He could feel her heart pounding through her dress.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," she answered, her eyes boring into his, searching relentlessly for his intentions.

There, he thought, was a gleam of the analytical mind that so enticed and enraged his son. "Please, call me Lucius," he insisted. "After all, you are to be family."

"And you may call me Hermione," she countered after a moment's thought. Quite unexpectedly, she added, "This really is a lovely affair. Thank you for welcoming my parents so graciously into your home - I know that it must be difficult for you to do so." The coolness of her tone was unmistakable, but her face gave no indication of her distaste.

Lucius felt a rare pang of uncertainly as he briefly met her brown eyes, which were swimming with venom below the thin veil of apprehension – there certainly might be more to this young woman than he had anticipated. "Hermione," he drawled smoothly, softly, "your contempt is indeed well-placed. But I had hoped that you and I would be able to be civil to one another."

"Civility, Lucius," she answered, her face still a mask of tranquility to the observer who could not hear the edge in her voice, "is most certainly in the eye of the beholder." She paused thoughtfully for a moment before she continued. "I do not love your son. However, I'm sure I will grow rather fond of the position that the Malfoy name affords me. I will use it to my advantage, and your pathetic society will be none the wiser. I will never, however, forget what you are."

"Indeed," Lucius murmured, raising an eyebrow. It took great mastery of his emotions to not allow his breath to catch audibly in his throat. His steel gray eyes locked with her deep chocolate ones, and he saw them widen satisfyingly with a flash of fear, but it was replaced again by animosity almost immediately. He marveled at her control and decided to carefully test its limits. "To be sure, you will be afforded privileges that you certainly would not have had with the Weasley boy." He smirked. The barb was well-placed and she flinched, barely but perceptibly. She looked away from him. He continued. "However, it will do you well to remember that I am a force to be reckoned with in the wizarding world, and I can either be your happiness, or its undoing."

She smirked. "You were a force to be reckoned with, Lucius," she retorted. "Now, you are twice disgraced and soon to be kindred to a Muggle-born." She spat the word at him like a curse, the expression on her face finally cracking into a smug, ironic smile. When the song ended a moment later, however, she curtsied politely to him and then calmly made her way to the corner where Draco stood discussing something probably inane with a small knot of his mother's acquaintances. She whispered something curtly into his ear and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, and when Draco approached his father to make their apologies a few moments later, Lucius was less satisfied than he would ever dare admit that he had not taken that particular match very convincingly.

* * *

A polite rap on the door broke his reverie, and before he could respond, the latch clicked softly and the door opened.


	3. Chapter 3: Draco

Draco Malfoy lay alone in the dim bedchamber, his hands laced behind his head, staring at the canopy of the bed that he still shared with his wife. A dying fire crackled in the fireplace. He had summoned her and she had gone. There was no question in Draco's mind of his father's intentions, from the moment that the timid house-elf had appeared bearing the note. It had been penned in his father's careful hand, reading only, _"Hermione, My private study at once, please. L."_ She had brushed Draco's long blond hair from his forehead before her departure; not a gesture of love but a gesture of reassurance – a promise that she understood what he was feeling.

Still, concern furrowed his brow. Under influence of Veritaserum, he was fairly certain that he wouldn't say that he loved the girl, at least in a traditional sense. It was true that he felt rather protective of her, though rather by accident - they'd been nearly constant companions from the day that word of their engagement spread through the halls of Hogwarts. That had, of course, been pure necessity - both of them had been essentially isolated from their classmates, Draco for being a traitor to blood and house, and Hermione for betraying her burgeoning relationship with the Weasel to suddenly and inexplicably give herself to a family so despised by her social circle. She did her best to accompany him in the corridors to keep him from being hexed by Weasley, who threw foreboding glances in Draco's direction at every opportunity, entirely convinced that Hermione was under some curse or threat despite her feeble attempts at explanation. They often spent their time together studying, but there was only so much studying that could be done and by sheer convenience of proximity they learned a bit about one another. They had, at length, decided it best to retreat from most social activity in general, and save the occasional Quidditch match where Hermione was accompanied, rather glumly, by Draco's father (it escaped no one's notice, especially Draco's, that she excused herself entirely from the Gryffindor match), if they were not in one another's company, they were in classes or hiding in some corner of their respective houses.

He recalled their wedding day as if it was yesterday, though it was nearly a year past.

* * *

His father had entered his bedchamber to find Draco in tears in his mother's arms, his last, whining plea to stop the fast-approaching union barely off his lips. Lucius had again lectured Draco about the consequences of one's actions, and the importance of his role in rebuilding the Malfoy family's good name. And Draco had again protested, although weakly this time as he knew his efforts were entirely fruitless. His mother had carefully straightened his robes, brushing away imagined dust and straightening his seams as he collected his dignity, first mopping at his eyes and then squaring his shoulders.

Once he appeared presentable again, Lucius said quietly, "Thank you, Narcissa. You may leave us." When she'd kissed Draco's forehead gently and then smoothed his long blond tresses over his shoulder, she excused herself. For a moment, Draco felt Lucius's eyes upon him, appraising him, and then his father spoke.

"Draco, I am not being unreasonable, nor am I being cruel. Your situation has worked to this family's advantage, and while I know it has not been to your liking, you have assured me through actions that you have the best interests of the Malfoy name at heart." He paused and Draco sighed, studying the floor. Lucius directed, "Look at me." His words were soft but there was no question about their command.

Draco raised his eyes to meet his father's to find a rare softness in the icy blue deep. "My son," he continued, "I did not love your mother when I married her, but I fulfilled my familial obligations and the result was you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," Draco answered carefully. "You want me to produce an heir to the House of Malfoy."

"Precisely," Lucius answered him, "and then you may do as you wish as long as you continue to exercise discretion."

"I see," Draco answered, now breaking away from his father's gaze. "And you are certain that marrying a Mu...Muggle-born is in the best interest of the family?"

Lucius chuckled softly, not humorlessly, the sound of true mirth from his father so foreign to Draco that his eyes snapped back to his father's face immediately. "Do you find my situation funny, father?" Draco asked sharply.

"No, I don't," Lucius assured him, still smiling. "But you must understand, my dragon, that much has changed since the fall of the Dark Lord. Pureblooded wizarding families, especially ours given both my history and your mother's lineage, are regarded with certain suspicion. This union is not only in the best interest of our family, it is our very salvation." With that, Lucius turned and opened the door, holding it for his son and following behind. As they walked in silence to the drawing room, where the small, private ceremony that would unite him in marriage with Hermione Granger was to be held, Draco stole occasional glances at his father. Lucius's self-satisfied smirk only served to further deepen his irritation.

In stark contrast to the binding ceremony, the gala celebrating the exchange of vows was certainly not a private affair. Draco mused bitterly to himself that it appeared his mother was trying entirely too hard to convince the wizarding world that she and his father not only approved of this farce, but thought it a reason for monstrous and extravagant celebration. Draco barely saw Hermione after the initial toasts to their health and happiness had been made; they moved in different circles, after all, and while many of her friends had chosen to stay away from the engagement party, they had all turned out for the wedding festivities. It was just as well – pretending to be in love was draining.

As the sun set in the ballroom windows, he caught sight of her approaching through the crowd, moving in a way that made it clear that there was intent in her destination. Hermione placed a small, soft hand on Draco's shoulder and whispered in his ear, her soft words just barely audible over the din of the crowd, and then slipped away up the marble staircase and to his bedchamber. Draco quickly made their excuses and then joined her. He expected to find her ready for feral, if not loving, wedding night revelry, but was surprised to find her pacing, her dark eyes flashing with the storm brewing beneath. As he'd learned to do when she grew agitated, he sprawled himself across the bed and indulged her need to fume.

"Your father," she sputtered, "obviously has different ideas about what to expect out of this marriage than either of us."

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her and tried not to appear bored. "Really?" he drawled. He'd been expecting a naked, nubile Hermione underneath him by this point and was rather put out that she'd dragged him away from the party early in order to rage to him.

She whirled on him, hands on her hips, fingers splayed across delicate pink satin. "When I danced with him," she fumed, "he told me that he expected us to produce a child! At once!"

Draco rolled onto his back lazily. "Is that so far-fetched?" he asked the bed canopy.

"YES!" Hermione barked. Draco didn't look at her, but heard tears in the thickening of her voice. "What about my future? About my education?"

"Granger," he sighed.

"You mean Malfoy?" she cut him off, her tone mocking.

"I guess I do," he continued. "You are a Malfoy wife now. You have little purpose but to dress well, make the right connections, and produce another generation of Malfoys. Father said once we've given the family an heir, we're free to do as we please, with discretion."

She stopped pacing and flopped to the bed next to him, the crinoline beneath her dress crinkling under her weight. "You'll have to translate that," she informed him. "I don't speak Malfoy." She had meant to sound snappish, but Draco heard the defeat in her voice. Lucius's will tended to have that effect on people.

"It means, once that's done, we can both get on with our lives if we do it quietly. You can pursue your educational goals," Draco told her, and then added quietly, "whatever they might be."

"What," Hermione asked sharply, "is that supposed to mean?"

Draco laughed softly. "Relax, Gr - Hermione. You're awfully quick to assume I'm insulting you. I simply meant that we've never really discussed it. I assume that you've realized that with a name like Malfoy attached to you, you're not going to be an Auror."

"Yes," she answered, "I had considered that and come to the same conclusion. Actually, I'd thought of becoming a Healer." More quietly she asked, "And what about you? What do you want to do?"

He smirked. "Pansy Parkinson."

Hermione shrieked and rolled onto her side, intending to strike out at him, but he countered her movements and caught her wrists in his hands, crushing her still protesting lips against his. After a moment, she didn't resist him, and he felt the tension drain from her body as he slid his hand over the pale pink satin of her hip and up her back, touching bare skin above the trim of her dress. He grasped the pull of the zipper and deftly, smoothly slid it down.

"The sooner we get started then..." Hermione trailed off, pressing her lips instead to his throat. He tilted his head back to grant her better access and moaned. And by the time the last guests were leaving the manor, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the marriage was being consummated quite satisfactorily.

In fact, they did little else in the next few weeks, leaving the chamber only for meals and the occasional shopping trip as Narcissa insisted that Hermione begin spending Malfoy Galleons immediately and liberally.

Their efforts proved to be unrewarded that month, however, and the next, and the next as well. By the seventh month after their union, the wear of the effort was beginning to show.

"Tell me," Lucius murmured at Draco, eyebrow cocked, over breakfast one morning, "have we again met with... deferred success in our efforts, Draco?"

Draco saw Hermione's eyes flash with anger at the oft-repeated inquiry and his lip curled in contempt. No one seated at the table had expected that they would still be sharing a bed.

"Father, a wizard with an Order of Merlin, Second Class, surely knows some revealing charm that has already given him the answer," he spat, looking away from all of them.

Narcissa broke in quickly, "Draco, what your father is implying is that perhaps we should consult with someone who has some expertise in this field. The Healers at St. Mungo's that specialize in this area..."

Draco cut her off sharply. "You think that the two of us aren't aware that you've been slipping fertility potion into our drinks for at least three months?" He sullenly stabbed at his breakfast.

Narcissa pursed her lips.

"Oh, come now, Draco," Lucius countered, his voice belying his irritation. "I simply know that both of you would like nothing more than to have this issue put to rest. I certainly didn't think that as trivial an assistance as some harmless potion would come amiss."

Quietly, Narcissa tried again. "I've made an appointment for next week. Just a consultation. What harm can come from merely discussing it?"

Draco choked on the kipper that he'd been in the midst of chewing, recovering slightly after a hearty thumping on the back from Hermione. "To what end, Mother?" he rasped, still coughing. "Either we can make a baby or we cannot. I don't need a Healer to tell me how."

"Clearly instruction is necessary in some form, as 'cannot' is not an option," Lucius hissed under his breath, and Draco glared at him. Rising from the table, Lucius added, "You may either see the Healer, or the two of you will remain in your chambers until you solve the problem for yourselves." He whirled on his heel and stalked from the dining room.

Narcissa pleaded quietly, "Draco, please…." He looked away from her, scowling, and she sighed deeply, rising to hurry after her fuming husband.

Draco felt Hermione's eyes upon him, but stubbornly studied his breakfast, refusing to meet her gaze. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he pushed his plate away and slammed his fork to the table. "Well?" he snapped. "Would you like to have a go at me, too?"

Hermione spoke hesitantly, watching her husband. "Perhaps your parents are correct, Draco. What harm would it do to see a Healer, just to reassure ourselves?"

He gaped at her in surprise. He had been ready for another onslaught from his parents, but Hermione's mutiny was a fresh jolt. "I suppose you think me incapable as well, then?" he pouted.

It was her turn to sigh. "Draco, I think no such thing. I'd love more than anything for a Healer to tell me that the problem is mine so I can see the look on your father's face when I tell him to bugger off."

He looked up from the table at his wife. She was wearing the malicious smile that he'd come to admire. "We don't have a choice, do we?" he asked her.

"Welcome to being a Malfoy," she answered waspishly. "I've only been at it seven months and that much is clear even to me."

And that was how, the very next week, Draco and Hermione had found themselves waiting in the halls of St. Mungo's, one or the other occasionally being whisked into an antiseptic room, wanting nothing more than to finish with the exhausting testing to which they were being subjected. Hermione reassured Draco that their ordeal was nothing compared to the Muggle testing that her mother had suggested, but Draco maintained that worse than the tests were Narcissa's flitting about fussing over them, and Lucius's frequent demands of answers and explanations from the Healers, who were clearly becoming vexed with his insistence.

It was late in the afternoon when Draco noticed that Hermione was beginning to look a bit peaked. Narcissa suggested that Draco fetch her a cup of tea, and he jumped at the opportunity for a few moments of peace. He returned several minutes later and resumed his seat next to Hermione, offering her a delicate pink cup.

She took the cup from him and sipped it gratefully, but when she met his eyes he could see the alarm register on her face instantly. He cursed himself silently for his transparency.

"Draco, what's the matter?" she whispered sharply, trying to avoid drawing his mother's attention.

"I do believe that we won't be staying much longer," Draco whispered back, choosing his words carefully.

As if on cue, Lucius Malfoy stormed around the corner, pausing only for a moment to address his family. "Come, Draco," he growled, "we're leaving."

"Why, Lucius…." Narcissa purred in the singsong voice that she reserved for social settings in which she might be overheard.

"Not now, Cissy," he snapped peevishly. She acquiesced immediately, reading his expression, and motioned urgently for Draco and Hermione to follow as he stalked down the hall. They Apparated back to the Manor in silence, none of them wanting to set off Lucius's next inexplicable burst of temper, and Draco and Hermione beat a hasty retreat to their chambers upon arrival.

"Now what do you suppose that was all about?" Hermione mused humorlessly, collapsing into a green velvet chair in the corner of their bedchamber and kicking off her shoes.

Draco let out a ragged, exhausted breath before he turned to face her. "Hermione," he began, "there's something that we should discuss."

* * *

A log fell in the fireplace and brought Draco back from his thoughts. He wondered how things were progressing downstairs. He was worried, and beneath the worry was a white-hot jealousy in which Draco hated himself, and his father. He'd always been inadequate in his father's eyes - this was just another example of his inability to measure up to expectations. He sighed and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, padded softly to the table in the corner, and poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey from the cut crystal decanter. He drank deeply, wincing at the burn of the amber liquid and sighed again, wondering how long his father would keep her.


	4. Chapter 4: The Study

Hermione pushed the heavy door open carefully. She had never been in Lucius's private study, and remembered all too well the dark secrets it was rumored to have contained before the fall of Voldemort. As she entered the room, however, there was nothing to suggest that there was anything ominous present. It was warm, and as well appointed as any of the many rooms in Malfoy Manor, with long, plush velvet settees and delicately footed end tables of dark wood. A fire crackled in a huge marble fireplace against the opposite wall, and french doors curtained in regally-colored organza and damask opened to what appeared to be yet another carved-marble balcony. From the positioning of the room, Hermione deduced that it must be the one that overlooked the East Gardens and the woods beyond. In the center of the large room stood Lucius's ornately carved desk and behind it, Lucius himself rose to greet her, dressed comfortably in green silk pajamas and a matching dressing gown. Hermione was slightly comforted by his attire, as she hadn't bothered to change into proper apparel before responding to his summons - her feet were bare beneath her soft pink nightgown and bathrobe - but she was ill at ease and fought back a shiver despite the warmth of the room.

"Hermione," he drawled, "good of you to come."

"I was under the impression that I had little choice, Lucius," she answered quickly, her eyes locking with his deliberately, trying to give the air of a confidence that she certainly didn't feel. His smirk irritated her. How could he possibly be so aloof in a situation like this? She considered for a moment turning to flee the room, to simply run back to her wide, comfortable bed, curl up next to Draco, and deal with the consequences in the morning.

"I wouldn't," he advised under his breath.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're a Legilimens now?" she queried. _As well as a manipulative git_, she thought, half-hoping he was indeed reading her mind.

"Of course not." He waved his hand dismissively. "You wear your intentions on your face as you wear your heart on your sleeve. But where are my manners? Please," he offered, "have a seat." He motioned to one of the chairs facing the desk, and Hermione took it, sinking into its velvet surface as he again took his chair. "Would you like tea? Perhaps a glass of wine?"

"Thanks you, no," she answered, squaring her shoulders. She took a breath and held it for a moment, gathering her wits and steeling her nerves, and then exhaled. "Perhaps we should just dispense with the pleasantries and discuss why you've summoned me," she said, her words rushed together despite her best efforts to show Lucius how calm she was.

Lucius made no effort to hide his smirk. "A good idea," he answered her.

"Draco is waiting for me," she added without thinking, trying to sound vaguely threatening, but she saw an amused smile play at the corners of his mouth and realized that she'd only made it appear as though she was feeling threatened.

The amusement didn't reach his voice, however, and his cautionary tone was evident. "I, my dear, am not frightened by Draco, nor do I ask his permission," he reminded her needlessly. Hermione felt a burning flush rise in her face. She was certain that his veiled warning was not idle as hers had been. "Back to the subject at hand," he redirected her. "I've received some information that concerns you - or more appropriately, concerns my son."

Hermione swallowed hard. "He knows, Lucius."

"What, precisely, does he know, my dear?"

"He knows that he is the reason that we've not yet been able to conceive. He overheard your discussion with the healer at St. Mungo's."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Did he, now?" he asked, but he was clearly nonplussed by the revelation.

"Yes," she replied carefully. She and Draco had rehearsed precisely what he wanted her to say when confronted with this question. She had intended to tell Lucius how badly it stung Draco to feel inadequate, but in the end he'd made her promise that she would only convey the facts and leave her emotional whinging out of it. "He went to fetch me a cup of tea, and he heard you arguing with a healer. He listened outside the door." _And it devastated him_, she didn't add, although she wondered what Lucius might have to say about that.

"One cannot help but notice that despite this knowledge, you've clearly stated that you've not yet been able to conceive," he asked, emphasizing the word as though he may not have heard it correctly. "You don't expect me to believe that given the circumstances, you're still trying?"

"I..." Hermione paused for a moment and then decided that no matter the circumstances, there was no honor in a lie. "No," she told him, "we're not." She kept her eyes fixed on a corner of the desk blotter, not trusting herself to maintain composure if she looked up and saw the contempt that she imagined in Lucius's eyes.

"Then you understand the predicament in which this news finds us?" he questioned her, his voice requesting her full attention. She looked up and found his face conspicuously devoid of emotion. Better than contempt to be sure, but with Lucius, she had learned, there was always unspoken sentiment just below such a disinterested veneer. He tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair, clearly waiting for an answer from her.

"I believe it finds you without your much-desired heir to the Malfoy family name and with little means of creating one," she answered quietly and immediately bit her tongue, realizing her mistake. Lucius's head snapped up sharply, an icy sneer leveled at her. She hadn't intended the offense that her comment had implied, and she immediately stuttered, "I mean... I... that is to say..."

Lucius set his long, pale fingers on the dark polished surface of his desk, his chin tilted haughtily, watching her struggle with her words. The fingers of his right hand tipped up lazily and his wand unsheathed itself from the cane leaning against the edge of the desk. It flew to meet the summoner with a swiftness not belied by the subtlety of the action, coming to rest on the desk under his hand.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and she fell silent. It was no secret to her that Lucius was a skilled wizard; his Orders of Merlin were among the few degrees in his substantial collection that weren't purchased but earned legitimately. Her stomach knotted as she realized for the first time how foolish she had been to come here, despite the fact that she hadn't been left with many other options. After nearly a year, she had come to tolerate Lucius - he was as tyrannical and quick tempered as he'd ever been, often haughty, but even in the face of his recent disgraces, he exuded power. That she had spent her childhood fearing and loathing him still occasionally tugged at her sensibilities - her hatred had not been unjustified. But she had also seen how Draco worshipped him, craved his praise and hard-won acceptance, and she realized that she'd allowed this to lull her into a false sense of security. Draco was not here to witness now, if he decided to hex her into oblivion.

"I trust," Lucius murmured, "that you understand what this necessitates?" He was still watching her intently, his grey eyes glinting.

Hermione swallowed hard. "You shan't need that," she whispered nervously, nodding toward the wand, which he was now thoughtfully stroking with the tips of his fingers.

"I quite hope not," he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes a bit. "For now, we are only having a discussion. It is certainly preferable that the rest of the evening passes without need for charms." He lowered his chin and met her gaze comfortably again. "But that, my dear, is entirely your decision."

"How do you figure that?" Hermione asked carefully, still eyeing his wand suspiciously. Her right hand slipped slowly into the pocket of her robe to close around her wand. She doubted, however, if worst came to worst, that she would be any match for him in a duel of wands.

"If you play nicely," Lucius answered her glibly, "we will not use wands. You may take yours out of your pocket and place it on your lap if it comforts you." He nodded toward her hand concealed in her pocket and Hermione flushed again, but she did as he suggested.

"If I… 'play nicely'…?" Hermione wondered out loud. "That means if I cooperate with your wishes?"

Lucius's smile was predatory. "If you'd rather, I could use Imperius and make you cooperate."

Hermione shook her head. She knew better. "If that was your intention, you'd already have done, and you can scarcely afford the trouble with the ministry." She crossed her legs primly, proud of her evaluation of the situation.

Lucius's cold eyes were enough to reassure her that, for whatever moment of self-satisfaction she'd just felt, she was not in control of this particular scene. "Is that so?" he murmured, toying again with his wand.

Panic was beginning to set in, washing over her in quiet, gradual waves that threatened to overwhelm her, rising sourly in her throat as the full weight of his intentions settled over her for the first time. It had been one thing to pragmatically discuss the facts of the matter with Draco, but it was quite another to have only the desk between her and Lucius. She understood now the tired, drawn look of Draco's face, the defeat in his eyes. His father was about to subjugate their little family - as pathetic and unlikely as it may be - as a matter of Malfoy course, and Hermione had been cowed enough by his influence to abide that. Her pulse throbbed dully in her temples. How thick of her - how had she not seen it sooner? She needed a moment to think. "What of Narcissa?" she stammered, trying desperately to stall him long enough to regroup and regain enough focus to formulate a strategy.

Lucius chuckled softly. "The Black bloodline is weak. It was demonstrated in her sister, in her cousins, at times in my son. It does not concern me in the least if the heir to the Malfoy name does not have Black blood running through his veins. And my dear, if it is infidelity that concerns you, you have much to learn about pure-blooded society - or what used to be pure-blooded society," he corrected himself, and then continued. "Narcissa and I consummated our marriage eighteen years ago on two occasions, which served our purpose. We have satisfied our needs elsewhere since that time. I assure you that I have not seen the inside of her bedchamber in nearly as long. She is, of course, a welcome guest in mine, with my permission, but we do not share marital intimacies. In fact, our camaraderie is something of a rarity in our circle."

"Why does she visit your bedchamber?" Hermione asked, truly curious though her mind was still spinning, already formulating a new plan. As disenchanted as she'd been thus far with what passed for Lucius's "pure-blooded society," she'd remedied her discomfort by learning as much as she could about the crests, the history, and the people around her. She'd never heard Lucius speak so candidly of his wife, or of their relationship. She didn't know he was capable.

"She has nightmares," Lucius explained simply, shrugging. "She sometimes fears to be alone. She is the mother of my son - the least that I can offer her is to provide comfort when necessary."

Hermione tipped her chin up in a half-nod, surprised. Whatever answer she'd been expecting, that was not the one, but it played well into her objective. "Do you love your wife?" she asked, wondering if she might push the course of the conversation into her favor so easily.

Lucius's eyes widened briefly with surprise. "I don't believe that's any of your concern," he answered, but he had cocked his head to the side and was now studying her as if only seeing her for the first time.

Hermione lowered her eyes, this time feigning the fluster that moments ago had been genuine. She knew the bold inquisition was clearly none of her business, but she also knew that it might catch Lucius off guard. She worked up her best impression of a stammer, not so difficult given that her hands were still shaking, and said, "I was only wondering if that sort of thing was common in the Pureblood realm. Love, I mean." She stared at her lap, certain that if she looked up it would be the undoing of any doubt she'd planted. Allowing herself a bit of drama instead, she sighed deeply and in a quiet voice asked, "So your decision has been made, then?" Hermione was surprised by the real pleading she heard in her own voice, but she had no idea at this point what she was pleading for. Even as she worked through the logic of the situation, the confusion grew like the buzz of static inside her head. True, she wanted to do whatever needed to be done that would allow her - and Draco - to get on with the business of normal life, but she also wanted to do what pleased Draco, something she hadn't realized when she walked through the door of the study this evening. Even if this whole mess had conflicted with her plans for her life, her idea of what her future might be, this was what she had and her instinct was to protect it.

When she realized that the silence had grown thick in the absence of his answer, she tried again, still quietly, still studying her wand. "You propose that we engage in a sexual affair until such time that we successfully produce an heir, as it appears that there is no other option?" Precise, she thought, striking the heart of the matter. When she looked back to his face, she was surprised to see a smile curling his lips, not a predatory smirk this time, but true pleasure gracing his face, a rare sight indeed. If she'd imagined that she fancied him as cold and haughty, it took her breath to see him smile. His smile was the mirror image of that which she'd seen occasionally on the face of his son.

"I dare say, Hermione, that we may both benefit from not only the result, but the education as well."

Hermione's stomach fluttered. She looked away again, the insinuation making her blush. She had known, after all, why he had summoned her. She and Draco had discussed it at length the morning after they had returned from St. Mungo's – Draco had prepared her for what to expect. Though she had been shocked at first, Draco had insisted that there was little else they would be able to do, and his words had been strangely comforting to her. She understood that Draco wanted to fulfill these obligations and be allowed to live a normal life again as badly as she did. She had been determined to conduct the proceedings as a business transaction, had set her mind to accept his desires as a means to an end, but in that smile she saw Draco, and her will crumbled as she remembered the defeat in his eyes when he'd told her that there was little use in fighting the will of Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius's smile broadened to a rare grin. "Kneezle got your tongue?" he teased, nearly gently, and her flush deepened.

"I... I have other ideas..." she stammered, not trusting her own voice any longer, but knowing what she must do - or at least try to do.

For the second time, Lucius's eyes widened with surprise, and in stunned silence, he listened. And then he settled back in his chair and asked questions and listened some more, his face the unreadable mask which she knew hid everything from her. But he made no move toward her again that evening, and when she left an hour later, he waited until the latch clicked softly on the study door before slamming both fists against the desk hard enough to send the house elves scurrying for cover.


	5. Chapter 5: Interlude

Lucius had given up on sleep and was lying between the satin sheets scowling disconsolately at the bed canopy when a soft rapping disturbed his thoughts. "Enter," he murmured, and was surprised when the door of Narcissa's chamber opened slightly, hesitantly, and then opened fully.

Narcissa stood in the doorway in her gauzy nightclothes. "I'm sorry," she murmured hesitantly. "I saw the light under the door…"

"Quite alright," he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Is there something on your mind?"

"I thought perhaps there was something on yours," she quietly told him, meeting his eyes with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing easily remedied," he muttered in reply, shifting himself to one side of the bed to make room for her to seat herself. He patted the velvet spread in invitation and she accepted wordlessly, making herself comfortable on top of the coverlet, back propped against the carved headboard, before delicately crossing her outstretched feet.

Lucius knew that she found herself more candid with him when she wasn't obliged to meet his gaze, so he was unsurprised when she probed for more specific answers. "Have you spoken to Draco about your intentions for his bride?" she asked. No matter that he'd told her countless times how useless the habit was, she still found it distasteful to refer to the girl by name. Lucius felt the edge of a fingernail brush his temple as she reached out a hand to worry a loose tendril of his silvery tresses between her fingers. It sent a shiver through him.

"Certainly not," Lucius answered her, cocking his head closer to her against his pillow to allow her unfettered access to his hair. "I spoke to the girl directly. Wasted time. She seems more determined than ever to resolve the issue on her own."

Narcissa wrapped a few more strands around her fingers, toying with the lock in a practised manner that spoke of years of familiarity. "I'm rather surprised that you gave her that option," Narcissa murmured. "It's not as though a solution is forthcoming."

"To say nothing of the rather unambiguous answer which is already before us. However," Lucius continued, "Hermione does not yet have a firm grasp on the issue with which we are faced. If we allow her to uncover on her own what we already know to be inevitable, she'll come to me of her own devices, not at her suggestion."

The room was silent for a moment before he heard Narcissa sigh delicately. "Why, Lucius," she exclaimed softly, the amusement in her voice apparent, "it would appear as though you're rather enjoying this game of cat and mouse you've created."

Lucius clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Not I who created it, Cissy. The inclination of the House of Black toward the..." he paused for a moment, measuring his words and then, deciding, he continued, "dramatic... is beyond anything which I might devise on my own. I'm simply working with the confines with which I have been provided."

Her finger tightened and the lock of hair wrapped around it stretched taut for a moment, smarting at his scalp, but quickly enough that one less indoctrinated in their style of communication might have thought it an accident. Lucius did not. "I dare say you might both benefit from your predicament," she said. Her voice was still controlled, but the sharpness of her tone was unmistakable. It took Lucius by surprise, but only for an instant.

He sat up, the remaining tendrils of his hair slipping out of her fingers, and grabbed his dressing gown from its hook near the bedpost as he pushed himself to his feet. Throwing it over his shoulders, he scowled but didn't spare her a glance when he spat, "Weak, Narcissa. Weak and petty blood put all of us in this situation, and I will not have you perpetuating a pettiness that keeps us from the rebirth of the Malfoy name." He yanked open the chamber door and stormed into the hallway, slamming it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6: Afterglow

The door opened with a soft creak and Draco didn't have time to pretend to be asleep and disinterested. Instead, he sat up immediately, appraising his wife critically. No visible injury. He could be thankful for that, at least. Not that he had expected any – Draco knew better than nearly anyone that Lucius preferred to wound psychologically. Bruises healed too quickly for his liking.

Hermione smiled gently. "You didn't need to wait up," she whispered.

"You wanted me to sleep?" Draco smiled nervously. "Are you... I mean, is everything… did you…" he stammered, not sure which question he wanted to ask first, suddenly not sure if he wanted to ask any at all.

Hermione sat down on the bed next to him. Her hair was mussed and her face was drawn and tired, but she looked otherwise intact. "I'm fine," she sighed.

Without thinking, Draco reached out his arms and gathered Hermione into them, pulling her against him. She immediately stiffened, and Draco slackened his hold on her, flustered. He'd never been much for affection, and she'd never seemed much to want any from him; he wasn't terribly sure why he'd done it now. It was an automatic reaction – much like, it occurred to him, Hermione's reaction the night this whole mess had started.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, dropping his arms. He was surprised when Hermione didn't shy away but instead relaxed and leaned against him heavily. He gingerly brought one arm back up and wrapped her in it.

"Oh, Draco," she sighed, her voice tired. "I need to tell you what I've done."

Now Draco stiffened, bristled, not pulling himself away from her, but perceptibly shifting his posture to become a less comfortable resting place. "I know what you've done," he snapped petulantly. "I don't need to hear the bloody details."

"You don't understand," she insisted, and though her voice was irritated and impatient, she didn't move away from him.

"I bloody well do understand, Granger," he insisted, scrambling out from under her to get to his feet, though once there he realized he didn't know where he wanted to go. He couldn't tell whether it was his heart or his pride that was hurting, but he kept his back to her as he snatched the decanter to refill his Firewhiskey, determined not to let her see in his features that he was bothered with it, even if he was rather sure his actions had given him away. Taking a breath to steady his voice, when he spoke again it was without the edge. "We talked about this and agreed that it was the right thing to do. I don't know if I'll ever want to hear precisely..."

"Precisely nothing. He didn't lay a finger on me," Hermione stated quietly. "And you shouldn't call me Granger."

Draco stopped in a state of suspended animation, the uncorked decanter still in one hand, the glass halfway to his lips in the other. He didn't breathe for a moment. Then he set the glass back on the table gently, his head swimming, and waited for her to continue as he knew she would. He heard her swallow audibly.

"Draco..." she began, hesitating, and then continued in a rushed breath, as though she wanted to say what she needed to say before she could change her mind. "I asked him to allow me to finish my research into the matter before making any hasty decisions. And I made him a promise that if I couldn't find a solution, that he could..." Her lip curled perceptibly as she trailed off, he could hear it in her tone, and then continued quietly, "...have his way." Hermione shook her head a bit, as if to clear herself. "I knew it was a consideration that he would have never granted you, but sitting there I realized that he might do it for me, and I realized that I wanted him to, and I know what you've told me about the root of the issue, but please understand, Draco..." She stopped speaking as the pitch of her voice began to rise to a pleading note, as though she'd thought better of herself.

Draco placed his hand on the green velvet armchair next to the table and then sagged into it, suddenly exhausted. He hadn't realized how he'd been dreading this - all of this - until she'd spoken it, though it was still beyond the grasp of his mind whether he was grateful that she had stood up to his father or furious that the matter wasn't put to rest. He wondered again if he really wanted to work that out, or if it was better to just feel exhaustion. "Hermione..." he began, finally raising his eyes to look at her again, "why?"

She screwed her face up into a troubled frown. "You're rather hard to hate at such close quarters, you know," she said after a moment, and then she fell silent again, the lines in her forehead deepening as she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them protectively. She spoke clearly but she looked away from him when she said, "I told him that I love you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he asked again, but this time it was much more a demand than a question.

"Because he doesn't understand that," Hermione answered him plainly, still studying the wall on the other side of the room, as though the answer to his question may appear there if she looked hard enough for it. "This whole haughty world doesn't know anything at all about love, but we've been tasked with pretending we feel it because there was really no other explanation for why we were acting in a way that put us in this situation in the first place. It never occurred to your parents that the truth might be just that simple, and I think perhaps I shocked your father into giving in to me by telling him so."

Draco's face twisted into a scowl. "That's absurd," he muttered.

Hermione smirked and finally turned back to face him. "Which? That I surprised him, or that we could possibly be in love?" From the corner of his eye, he saw her uncurl herself and slowly stretched one leg, and then the other, over the side of the bed, then use her hands to push herself to her feet. Tentatively she crossed the ten steps between the bed and the chair, but when she reached out her hand to set it on his shoulder, he also reached out and planted him palm against the crest of her hip, pushing her away with a sigh that sounded frustrated.

"Oh, Draco," she murmured quietly, "I did this for you."

"I didn't ask you to do anything of the sort."

"I know you didn't," she answered quickly. "It was the best I could to at quick wit - I didn't plan it. I just couldn't see the harm in buying a bit more time." Trying her approach again, she trailed her fingers along the arm of the chair and took another step to turn, sinking to her knees in front of the chair this time. She placed her palms against the tops of his thighs and slid them upward against the slick green silk of his pajamas. The muscles of his legs tensed and coiled under her hands. She leaned her head forward to nuzzle his abdomen through the thin fabric and when she succeeded in parting the flaps a bit between the buttons, her tongue darted out and he felt it, soft and damp and electric, against his skin. Her hot breath hit the dampness in the spot her tongue had vacated and his right hand tightened on the velvet of the chair's arm as his body betrayed his confusion by responding to her. When she raised her head to meet her husband's eyes, he let her see the storm brewing underneath the deep blue before he plunged the other hand into her hair. He exercised a great deal of restraint by being relatively gentle when he pushed her head back down.

* * *

Lying shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, they always found that the hard questions and their answers about the lives that were, or that might have been, came easier. There was less room for reality in the darkness. Still, it was rare that Draco had wanted to know much about her life before him. Now, it was as if her revelation that love was anything but a thought beyond a luxury they could scarcely afford had breached the dam of words that had been locked away inside him and the questions spilled like a flood.

"Before me... you know, before us," he drawled, trying to find the right words, "did you... did you enjoy..." The end of his question disappeared beneath a blush that he knew Hermione could not see, but even its insinuation made him feel a bit of shame rising inside him.

"Sex? You mean with Ron?" she asked, and he could hear in her voice the small, sad smile which always, if briefly, crossed her face when she spoke of him. "I suppose so. It was..." She paused. "Well, come to that, it was rather like a fire brigade crashing into a stone wall, wasn't it? Noisy and unproductive." Draco bit his lip to stifle the giggle that rose in his throat for a moment, but the urge to laugh didn't last past Hermione's next question. "How about for you then? I'd heard the wild stories about you before your freedom was so rudely snatched away."

"I hadn't," he answered plainly.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione continued, and he could again hear the crooked smirk he imagined on her face plainly in her voice, "those stories came directly from the legends of the Slytherin common room."

"I hadn't," he repeated quietly, again feeling more vulnerable than he'd bargained for and wondering why he hadn't just told the lie that had served him so well to this point. Too late now. He inhaled, and then held the breath for a moment. "I mean, of course there were stories, but it was all lies."

Breaking the unspoken rules of their practiced game of questions, she propped herself up on her elbow to study him through the darkness. "What do you mean?"

He glanced at her, and then went back to studying the bed canopy. "I mean... I'd never..." He paused, regrouped. "You were..." Draco was grateful that the darkened room was hiding the pink that he could still feel pulsing in his cheeks. "You're the only person I've ever been with," he finished quietly.

He didn't look over at her, but he could feel her continue to watch him for a moment in the darkness, and he could tell by the hint of movement that he could see at the edge of his field of vision that she was chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. When she finally spoke, she sighed deeply first. "Why?" she asked.

"Why what?" he answered testily, resisting his first instinct to turn onto his side, putting his back to her and effectively ending the conversation. She was being different tonight; the shock of her interaction with Lucius was just beginning to wear through, and their game of questions and answers almost seemed as though it was more than just the idle passage of the wee hours, during which neither of them had been sleeping so well in a while.

"Well," she reasoned, "you couldn't have been short of opportunities to... erm... indulge in the pleasures of the flesh." She paused again, and when she continued, she seemed to have regained some confidence. "And you certainly didn't seem inexperienced to me."

Though still not looking at her, he cocked an eyebrow. "I'd imagine nearly anything would seem more refined than a fire brigade crashing into a stone wall, Hermione." Strategy forbade a sideward glance, but he thought he heard her snort a bit, as though stifling a laugh. "But honestly, Granger, it wasn't so much about opportunity. My parents are of the old ways, and they insisted that I follow the rules of polite society. And so I did, since it didn't seem to make much difference. You know, chaperoned dates walking in the garden, tea on Sunday and such." He paused to give her the opportunity to ask the question which would naturally follow, and when she didn't, he answered it for her. "I suppose I could have done as I liked at school or when outside of their circles, but as crazy as it sounds, I fancied that I had some pride in my name, and in the salons where it was respected. Clearly that was a farce, but as a child, it seemed legitimate and necessary." He stopped speaking and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Draco hadn't strung as many words together into thoughts in Hermione's presence in several months, and certainly not regarding a topic as intimate. He quietly finished his thought by telling her, "My father may not frighten me in the same way he used to frighten you, but I don't prefer to cross him when I've a choice."

Hermione was silent for so long that Draco wondered if she'd fallen asleep in the dark, though he couldn't find the measure in her breathing that usually marked her slumber for him. Then she spoke softly. "He still frightens me," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper, "but not in the way that he used to. Tomorrow, I need to go to Hogwarts. I need to use the library."


	7. Chapter 7: Blood

Hermione needn't have stopped at the Headmistress's office to notify Minerva McGonagall that she would be making use of the library for the afternoon - there wasn't a thing that took place on the grounds of Hogwarts without the knowledge of the headmaster in some form or another. Still, politeness dictated that Hermione make her presence known. Thankfully, Headmistress McGonagall was in no more mood than Hermione for idle chatter and sent her on her way with a matronly, concerned look that made Hermione feel entirely more pitied than cared for.

Now, though, amongst the dusty pages of the Hogwarts library, where Madam Pince still watched her suspiciously and her footfalls still echoed against the stone floor in a volume that always seemed like a transgression, she felt more comfortable than she had in ages. Nearly hidden by the volumes she'd summoned from the shelves (and a few more for which she had to pick carefully amongst the mouldering tomes in the restricted section - restricted section books could not be summoned to guard against the wands of more clever second- and third-years), she turned heavy parchment pages, revised her notes, and stifled the occasional sneeze while breathing in the familiar smell of knowledge that accompanied so many happier memories. To be safe, she'd chosen books about the most common magical maladies known to cause infertility, as well as those volumes more focused on Muggle topics like anatomy and biology. The longer she read, the higher grew the stacks on the table around her, as she wasn't as well versed in any of these topics as she'd like and she needed to keep searching for definitions of terms that she didn't understand. Likewise, she was frustrated by the confusion between the Muggle understanding of medicine, and the Wizarding World's interpretation of the same, often overlapping but nearly always at odds in the end. By her fifth hour, her parchment was covered with scratched-out misspellings and wayward blots from her faltering quill, which she hadn't yet bothered to tidy up as she'd wrung her hair into a tight knot at the back of her head and secured it using her wand for want of a better implement, leaving the blots to remind her of all the things she'd thought she knew when she began this study months ago.

She knew the footfalls by sound well before she could see him, and her stomach clenched painfully out of years of habit, though she no longer had any reason to fear wrath (or worse, detention) from Professor Snape; a close friend and confidant of Lucius Malfoy, she encountered him socially all too often these days. As he rounded the corner, there was no use in shrinking behind her books - he spotted her at once and, raising an eyebrow, he made directly for the table in the corner where she'd sequestered herself.

He placed his hands on the edge of the rough table and smirked as he leaned forward to speak quietly. "Well, well, our Lady Malfoy has graced our halls with her presence once again. To what do we owe the privilege of your visit today?" he practically purred, mocking her with every word. "Our paltry library is rather pathetic compared to the collection at your fingertips at Malfoy Manor, is it not?" Too late, Hermione shifted her arm to obscure her revisions with the sleeve of her robes, and the professor caught a glimpse of the page. She said a silent prayer that he not be allowed to make the connection, but his eyes grew wide and she cursed inwardly for having been a beat too slow. She stared at the table for a moment and took a deep breath, preparing to weather the cruelty that was most certainly being formulated to celebrate her predicament, but when she looked up again, Snape was studying her with no expression.

After a moment, the silence began to annoy her, and she quietly snapped, "Let's have it out, Severus," the familiarity of his given name acrid as ever on her tongue.

His eyes swept over the stacks of books on the table. He used the tip of his finger to slowly, nearly dramatically push _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions_ aside to reveal the crumbling leather spine of _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. "Tell me, Lady Malfoy, was there a particular reason you chose this title?"

"I..." Hermione stammered, trying to decide how much of the truth to tell, "I read it years ago and I thought I remembered seeing a bit that might help..." Her voice trailed off. At least that much was true - she remembered telling Harry the bit she'd read about him in that very book on their first train ride to Hogwarts. But that hadn't been the part of the text she'd been looking for. She sighed. "I've had to use three books to cross reference every one that I thought I'd need."

"I wonder if you might not have more luck in the Malfoys' library," Snape murmured, still looking over the tabletop cluttered with discarded quills and rolls of parchment.

"Oh, honestly," she snapped, "do I look as though I'm enjoying myself? I've been through that collection top to bottom."

"Which is not useful if you don't know what you're looking for."

"How in the world do you know..." she began, but Professor Snape held up a hand to silence her. She stopped speaking, but her eyes bored holes through him. She was tired, she was testy, and she didn't have the patience to suffer Severus's medding much longer.

"I believe I have something you'd be interested in seeing in my office," he said leveling a steady gaze at her her, which she returned with a glare. "Come with me for a moment?" The professor turned on his heel and stalked toward the stone archway at the far side of the library, black robes billowing behind him as always.

"Why would you have any interest in helping?" Hermione grumbled under her breath, still peevish.

She wasn't feeling very agreeable but she could certainly use a break, she reasoned, and she knew that if she needed access to books covering more specific curses or magical illnesses, she should keep on Snape's charitable side. She followed him across the room to the arch, down the stairway, and through a long dungeon corridor, the walls around her hung with tapestries woven in Slytherin green, rich gold and silver threads occasionally shimmering in the dim candlelight. Some distance ahead of her, Snape pushed open a worn but non-descript door and Hermione hurried to catch up and follow him though.

His office was as dreary and glum as Hermione imagined that it would be. The light from the lamps didn't quite reach any corner of the room, and the walls were bare save a few portrait frames that hung deserted, as though even their occupants couldn't stand the gloom. Snape's back was to her, and he was studying a long row of volumes all bound in similar black leather, which sat on the bookshelf behind the desk in the corner. He ran his finger along the row until he found what he was looking for and Hermione could see the trail that it left in the dust from the other side of the room. Gingerly pulling the rather heavy looking book from its place on the shelf, he gently wiped the dust from the spine before turning it over in his hands and setting it on the desk. She watched him turn to the index, scanning the page, and then to the middle of the book.

"How much, Mrs. Malfoy, do you know about the family you married into?" he asked, without looking up from the book.

"An ancient house. Connections to William the Conqueror around 1100 A.D. and a large endowment based on some relatively shady dealings. Fortune built in Goblin holdings, most of them of ambiguous origins. My father-in-law is a known Death Eater. Not a drop of Muggle blood. The family is prone to inbreeding. And dragon pox," she finished wryly.

Still turning pages, Snape waved her off. "The other one."

"You mean the Noble and Ancient House of Black?" she snorted. "The family who won't acknowledge my presence in a room? That 'other one'?"

"The one at the root of your issue, I suspect, yes. The same."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "At the root of which?" she asked suspiciously.

"Your problem. Your research problem," the professor snapped at her. "I assume the only reason that you're here is that you've reached the limits of what you could accomplish magically, medically, and otherwise, in terms of meeting Lucius's demand that you conceive an heir to the Malfoy name with Draco. There's little benefit in playing coy with me, Hermione - I have both knowledge of your situation and an idea of where the crux of the problem lies and I am merely trying to bring the two together in a way that will benefit everyone."

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

Snape continued, "The Black family has been politically pure-blooded and prone to drama for centuries. However, in approximately 1870, the political climate and the blood disagreements in the Wizarding World were, in a matter of speaking, dire. Rights of magical creatures were, for the first time being considered, and the horror of pure-blooded society was evident in the outcry. At the forefront of the charge for the rights of magical creatures, goblins, to be specific, was a young wizard by the name of Oswald Beamish. He was a half-blood, and the unfortunate and ill-fated love interest of one Elladora Black." With this, Snape looked up at Hermione to make sure that he had her rapt attention. He did. "Miss Black, it was later said, was under the influence of some type of potion or curse to act the way that she did, but it is widely believed that those stories are fabrications and that she was simply a lovesick girl. To either end, Mr. Beamish successfully seduced the girl. Agnes Black, her mother, learned of the affair too late - Miss Black was already carrying the child of Mr. Beamish. You mentioned that you knew of the Malfoys' involvement in goblin dealings? They share that bond with the Black family, who opposed the idea of goblin rights on principle - much easier to expropriate the assets of creatures not protected by authority of the Ministry. Mr. Beamish, meanwhile, threatened to expose the affair, and its result, unless the Black family withdrew their opposition to the Ministry protection of the goblin interests."

Snape turned the book around on his desk so that the right side faced Hermione, and she could see a photo on the page of a rather wild looking elderly woman in a frumpy black frock, with tufts of white hair sprouting from her head. She paced back and forth in the photo, clearly agitated, and appeared to be muttering to herself. The caption under the photo read _Elladora Black, 1850-1931 - Ahalya Curse_.

"Ahalya Curse?" Hermione asked, now thoroughly engrossed. This was the type of education she rarely got from the milquetoast books that made up the bulk of her formal learnings.

Snape turned to the shelf behind him and selected a smaller book. Hermione could see the words engraved on the cover in dull and faded silver leaf, though she couldn't make out what they said - they seemed to be written in a language that looked only slightly familiar. The professor opened it and thumbed through the pages. "I don't speak goblin as well as I ought, but the rough translation of the curse is as follows." He cleared his throat and then read from the page before him. "_She has gone aside to uncleanliness and has been defiled, lain with a man other than her husband. Let life supernal and its creation be rent from her in retribution for the suffering she has caused, and may the purity of the scion be held as the standard for the House of Black to fructify_."

"Goodness," Hermione breathed. "That seems a bit harsh."

Snape chuckled mirthlessly. "It was meant to kill her. It only succeeded in driving her mad."


	8. Chapter 8: Disdain

The crashing of the heavy door against the wall of the conservatory shattered the morning's silence, and Narcissa looked up sharply from her perch on the chaise, wand still mid-sweep. As Draco stormed across the flagstones toward her, his steps echoing sharply off of the high glass windows in the quiet sunshine, he could see she'd been charming the topiaries into animal shapes like she'd used to do for his entertainment when he was a child - dancing bears, prancing elephants - this one had been a regally preening peacock, though with her focus moved from the charm it popped back into nothing but well-manicured shrubbery within a moment.

Draco's eyes blazed as he halted at her velveteen lounge, looming over her in a fury. "You knew," he choked out.

His mother's eyes widened but Draco saw no fear, only mild surprise. "She is a clever creature, isn't she?" Narcissa murmured.

"Severus had a hand in it," he correct her, trying to control the volume of his voice and only partially succeeding. "How could you know and not tell us?"

Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. "The girl is a mudblood, my Dragon, practically a Muggle. We had no idea ancient pureblood magic could affect her." She sniffed and turned back to the topiary, waving her wand in a graceful swoop which made the trimmed branches burst into a bloom of lavender flowers.

"A curse, Mother," Draco spat. "A Black family curse, and a nasty one. This is the reason - the reason for the social supervision, the reason you made me marry her..." He paused to consider for a moment. "You DID know it affected her. The potions in our drinks weren't fertility potions at all. You were trying to counteract the curse..."

"Which Severus ALSO had a hand in," his mother interrupted, and though her voice was still tinkling silver, the flowers wilted rapidly and petals began to rain to the floor as she spoke. "We thought we were doing what was best for you." She reached out her hand to take hold of his, but he took a step backward out of her reach, and for a split second he saw her brow crease in irritation before she resumed her demure smile. "How could we know that the girl to whom we'd betrothed our only son was a harlot as well as a mudblood?"

Draco felt himself flush with anger. "Her name is Hermione. Father was doing nothing for me, but for him. _For the family name_," he emphasized mockingly. "And she never would have considered marrying me if not forced."

Her cool smile never faltered. "That much, my Dragon, is clear, though you'd do best to remember that what is done _for the family name_ is done for you. She'd not have been freely granted that option if not for the filth that she forced upon you. _You_ would have never considered marrying _her_. Nevertheless," Narcissa waved the hand not holding the wand again as though shooing the unpleasantness of the situation away from her, "now that the girl has discovered the inevitability of the predicament, we'll be done with it."

The certainty in his mother's voice took him aback for a moment. "How do you mean we'll be done with it?" he asked her, discomfort rising to match his anger. If his mother was confident in the resolution of a situation, there could only be one reason. No matter the state of their relationship, she believed Lucius could carry the world on his shoulders if she requested it.

She turned back to him and leveled him with a gaze that seemed to dare defiance. "Your father is not of the House of Black and has already sired his heir. The curse is no longer of concern to him. He'll have her, and have her again until the situation has been rectified, and then we can all put this unpleasant matter behind us."

Draco's heart leapt to his throat and he rocked back on his heels, shocked at both his mother's forwardness, and how rapidly the situation had escalated. "He promised her time," he whispered, his mouth dry. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.

"Oh, honestly, Draco ," his mother scolded, reaching for his hand again and this time succeeding in taking it in hers. "The girl is unclean and this is the best solution either of you could hope for. Your father is a fine wizard of noble blood and he'll give you a fine son. You should be grateful that he's willing to lower himself to her stature to provide you an heir. Her parents are_ Muggles_."

Draco pulled his hand out of hers, recoiling from her tone as much as her touch. He could tell that the mere mention of Hermione's parents tasted vile on her tongue and he needed to be free of her. "Where is father now?" he asked softly, turning his eyes back to the door. He was thinking of Hermione in the manor's library, still researching the origins of the Black family curse amongst Lucius's extensive collection of written materials on dark magic and its history.

"I believe he's on the grounds," she twittered, the lilt of placation returning to her voice. "He returned from his office in London just this morning."


	9. Chapter 9: Check

The door of the Malfoy Manor library stood ajar, just enough to let a sliver of dim light from the heavily curtained room fall across the hallway, and Lucius gently pushed the door open. He wasn't surprised to see Hermione hunched over the heavy oak table which stood in the center of the room, surrounded by stacks of richly colored leather bindings. Her hair was bunched on top of her head, held loosely in place with her wand, though large tendrils fell about her face, obscuring it from his view. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. The plush rug kept his boots from falling heavily on the library's floor, but still he was surprised that the sound of his entrance didn't pull her from her work. Coming to a stop in front of the table, he watched her studying the paragraph beneath the woodcut on the page before her.

_The Ahalya Curse, a curse with a name based in Hindu mythology, is a complicated and often mistranslated spell. This leads to a rare proper application of its true intent. It has resulted, in the cases of several pureblooded families, in near eradication of a bloodline if members of the family are unable or unwilling to control behavior, in particular extramarital sexual activity, which renders the participant unable to bear or produce offspring. Though the original text of the curse does not mention it, the history of the curse provides the assumption that it was not devised to prevent infidelity as much as to prevent the contamination of a bloodline by Muggle blood or by blood deemed less than worthy to mingle with that of the most noble ancient families..._

He cleared his throat audibly. She startled, and as she raised her eyes to him, he was struck by the dark circles beneath them. He knew, perhaps better than she did, how hard she'd been working to find a solution to the trouble between she and Draco; to see her here, still studying in light of what he knew she'd learned the previous day, was maddening. "Been here all night, have we?"

"Have I?" Even with eyes heavily lidded for lack of sleep, she observantly looked him up and down. "You've been in London then?"

An growl raised in his throat and he had to stifle it before it escaped. He had indeed come directly from his office in London, and wouldn't have stopped at the library at all had the door not been open to him practically in invitation. He was still dressed in the manner that he reserved only for those rare but necessary occasions when he needed to move within the Muggle world and he silently cursed himself for not changing right off, immediately adding another curse for her ability to make him feel entirely self-conscious about it.

"Indeed I have," he answered her, irritation curling his lip into a shadow of a sneer. He intended to redirect her attention rather quickly. "And I had a visitor last night while I was preparing for my return to Wiltshire. Severus called on me. He told me that you'd visited Hogwarts. To use the library, I believe?" He raised an eyebrow. "He informed me that he had a conversation with you."

With a roll of her eyes, she turned her attention back to the open page in front of her. "Severus is an appalling gossip," she murmured under her breath.

"About Elladora Black," Lucius clarified, pronouncing each syllable carefully. Still no reaction from Hermione except a barely perceptible shift in her posture, perhaps to a more alert stance in reaction to his words, but perhaps just because she'd been making use of the most uncomfortable chair in the room for hours.

He looked about the table at the heavy volumes scattered and stacked there, not the dusty pages and rotting leather bindings that he knew she'd been searching amongst the Hogwarts collection, but an immaculately kept and meticulously maintained library of books that were touched, cleaned, and handled with care. Some of them were among the rarest in the world on the subject of dark arts, curses, and the history of the wizarding world, and several of the best-known scholars and teachers in Europe had been known to come here, to the Manor in Wiltshire that was now her home, to do research. If she'd known what to look for, she wouldn't have had to search the stacks at Hogwarts at all - the entire Black family history, the good and the bad, was contained in this room. He leaned his gilted cane against the edge of the edge of the table and used a calf-skin gloved hand to push one book aside to see the engraved title of the one underneath. "You seem to have procured all the proper resources since then, so I can't help but suspect he was telling the truth, my dear."

He heard her sigh tiredly and she looked up from her book again. "Fine, then," she snapped, "I spoke with Severus. He pointed me in the proper direction, though I didn't ask him for his help. He volunteered it." She reached her hand into her tangled mess of fuzzy curls and retrieved her wand, allowing her hair to fall around her shoulders. She set the wand down on the table next to her book, her hand resting over the top of it protectively, and then touching a fingertip to the pink tip of her tongue briefly, she used the dampened digit to turn the page and returned her attention to the words in front of her.

Taken aback both by her brusque answer and by the complete disappearance of the unease that he'd come to enjoy from Hermione in his presence, he felt something near gratitude that she was no longer looking at him as it afforded him a moment to recompose himself. He watched her hunched shoulders. Her hair was hanging about her face, obscuring it from his view, but except her fingers still resting on her wand, there wasn't much about her posture that spoke of defensiveness. He bit back the commanding snarl that was on the tip of his tongue and instead of reaching for his wand and hexing her into the compliance that he had expected, removed his gloves, pulling the calfskin off the ends of the fingers of first one hand, and then the other. He smoothed the pair together and laid them on the table, and when Hermione still hadn't returned her attention to him, he cleared his throat again.

Her head snapped up again and she made no attempt to hide her irritation. Though, Lucius thought, hers was nothing compared to his own. "Yes, Lucius?" she answered his gaze with poorly feigned patience.

"I was merely wondering," he murmured, "whether you learned anything that may assist in solving the problem, or if we should be done wasting time." Emphasis fell naturally on the last two words and he couldn't stop the fingers of his right hand from curling reflexively into a ball of rage when she had the audacity to roll her eyes at him.

Hermione took a sucking breath and began to speak rapidly at him, her annoyance more apparent with every word. "Not that it's any of your business, as you promised Draco and I some additional time until you began to demand permission to meddle further, but since you seem to be set on hearing the content of the discussion, Severus pointed me in the direction of Elladora Black, yes. Pureblooded witch who fell in love with a powerful wizard with political ambitions based on things your society doesn't take seriously. He essentially attempted to blackmail the Black family into supporting a Goblin rights campaign. The Goblins, meanwhile, were less well-intentioned and performed a powerful and well-placed bit of magic that was intended to strike where a pureblooded family is most vulnerable..."

He raised an eyebrow. "And where is that?"

"Loyalty," she answered him sharply, "Fidelity, honesty, I could go on for a while, but suffice to say that in the history that has been shared with me, there was a particularly nasty curse which, left unchecked, could have wiped out the bloodline. There was, however, a stopper put in this plan because Elladora wasn't killed but only driven mad, giving her the inconvenient habit of wandering about muttering about the curse. And so eventually the Black family worked it out, and began to take precautions."

She paused and looked up at Lucius, her eyes now practically blazing.

"And so now..." he began, but she raised a hand to cut across him.

"Those are the things that Severus pointed out to me," she continued, her voice rising in both pitch and timbre as her ire grew less inhibited. "Let me tell you what I've worked out on my own. You knew about the curse - clearly you knew. If Draco is here, it means that you've either known all along or you got exceptionally lucky in that you and your wife were both... erm... unspoiled when you married. You made Draco marry me because, with the curse being what it is - essentially an infertility spell for anyone who has carnal knowledge of more than one partner - you knew that even if the curse didn't affect me, with my Muggle parents and all, that it would certainly affect Draco, which meant that if you wanted to continue the family name, he needed to be only with me until we could produce a child. You didn't know what I'd been up to, but you didn't know if it would matter, and that's why you watched so closely, and that's why you made us drink potions meant to try to counteract the curse when you realized that the curse does indeed affect me, regardless of my blood status, and why you argued with the mediwitches at St. Mungo's about our inability to conceive being Draco's fault. Now, you've taken it into your head that the only way that you're going to get what you want is if you - NOT a Black - and I have relations and conceive a child and call me completely mental but I get the impression that you're enjoying this entire process. You're enjoying terrifying me, and to you it's a lark taking what you deem belongs to your son, and this is all a game to you, isn't it?"

Lucius watched her, careful to guard his expression into one of nonplussed tolerance. She was out of breath, panting slightly, a heavy flush painting pink stripes across her cheeks. Her eyes burned into him.

"If you're quite finished with your interrogation, I'm disposed," she muttered, turning her attention back to her page. Her insolence was the last straw, and Lucius' hand moved of its own accord. His wand was drawn before he fully knew what he intended to do. Hermione, just a beat behind him, curled her fingers around her own wand and made to pick it up, but Lucius twisted his wrist and whispered "Arachnae" and her hand went still as her back arched painfully against the spell. As she made to move her hand, Lucius reached across the desk and put his over it. "It's a web spell," he explained quietly, from the corner of his mouth, as if they might be overheard. "If you struggle, it will only constrict more tightly. Best to be still for a moment, hm?" He saw it then, the apprehension in her eyes. Not exactly fear - no, there was still too much anger for fear, but she clearly understood the situation she was in and though her eyes said she hated him for it, she was also no longer fighting against the spell.

He made a show of unbuttoning his cuffs, careful to maintain his concentration on the spell though he tucked his wand between his fingers in a practiced manner, shifting it to his other hand to fold up the other starched white cuff as well. Muggle clothing irritated him in a calm moment, and just now it was simply constrictive. "Now then," he continued, training his wand back on his newly complacent ward, "I didn't want things to be like his, Hermione, but I believe you've misjudged the situation. The time for games is well past. Now you're going to do as I say."


End file.
